Savoring life. Writing on experiences. Moments and milestones in equal measure.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

In Nairobi: Unfrozen by Love

Unfrozen by love

When I reminisce on high school days the bloodbath that used to
precede examination periods comes top of the list.

It used to be admirably crazy!

People buried their foreheads in books. Some fell asleep next to
books and some used them as pillows – well, I think, hoping osmosis would
magically happen and they’d then wake up smarter than Einstein. Few renegades
like me are the ones that found time to talk about girls and Chelsea – because
both are great anyway. And don’t get me wrong here I lived for those days. The
bloodbath days. This is when I because useful to everyone from cool kids to wanna-be cool kids and the comfortably
and proudly dumberi kids. I would
become like a ka-consultant explaining about moles and molar concepts, sines and
cosines, why cold-hearted Odie never mourned his grandmother and why Wak was a
prick for fleeing during war and how both lacked any Shreds of Tenderness, and
things about ventricles and how Jesus heals the broken hearts.

This was like meth to me or rather I got the vibe that Sherlock
Holmes has when they tell him new dead bodies have been found. Invigorating!

But I never read much. I just knew those things because they were
taught to me. Ok that’s a lie, I read my butt off just not as hard as most kids!

He’d ask, “Na wewe husoma lini?”

And I never had a definitive answer, “Mchana na sa zingine usiku”.
Most of them were callous. Or sarcastic.

“But si we hulala sana”. Erastus once told me.

Of course I used to sleep a little longer after the morning bell but
hey a man needeth rest after those brain wrecking lessons about things I never asked
to know about. Like who wants to know which ventricle pumps blood sijui to where? What if all I want in
life is to be a fancy duck? Does a duck care about ventricles? Certainly not!

Those questions were from my form one mentee Erastus who I hope made
it in life despite following my bad example. But I must reiterate that I wasn’t
that bad. Ama what do you think? I
mean I made it to the cream of the crop in my school, top in my village –
standards were low there – and certainly almost top in the entire chain of
villages two or three ridges away of where we lived –standards here were a
little better than my village but again still low. And I sorta made it in life
given I own some stuff here in Nairobi, about three sheep and a couple of
cockerels in the village and the cashier at Equity Bank knows my name (I’ll
edit this part when I make it for real).

Regardless, I was good in those things because I read them to pass
and impress my old man and then go to college because they said there are
pretty girls there and then to get money and wear #TMT hoods and wave to people
from inside a V8 (then it was a Pajero but they aren’t fancy anymore) under my
name. That’s pretty much it.

PS: I have the TMT hood but not yet the V8. I’m taking donations. Ata I’ll take a used one if any of you
want to upgrade to a Mercedez Maybach.

But there is one thing we had in common besides the pre-test
bloodbaths – we rarely showered! (I can feel you’re already judging me but I’d
wait if I were you). Why? You ask. Well because it was always freaking cold
man. And I am determined to make a point and so I’ll say this, the only good
thing about that place was the clean shots of happy trees under the morning fog
that Mutua Matheka would consider orgasmic while pitching his photographic eye
behind his heavyweight Canon camera. He’d have endless ‘In-the-wild’ shots that’d
easily win you over as desktop wallpapers. (Ivy you need to check out this
guy).

You know I have seen cold days in Nairobi. Today is particularly
cold. And you should know this because you’ll hardly see those common belly
buttons trotting down Moi Avenue or idling at Kenya Archives. They are hidden
beneath impressive trench coats and meticulously knitted sweaters bought from
‘the guy’ at Ngara or Gikomba. Or Woolworths because not everyone cares about
rational pricing nowadays. Talk of Kenya’s Yeezy collection! Actually at my
financial state I can only buy a sweater at thao
nne if it will also act as my PA on busy days and cuddle me on cold
mornings.

I went to a high school in Kinangop. It gets as cold as twelve
degrees there. That and the frozen water was more than enough reason to let the
body clean itself naturally. See how you were wrong judging me? No? Okay try
jump in the shower at 5 a.m. with water that spent the night outside and we’ll
see if you’ll still remember your name after that.

I was used to clenching teach beneath my boshori (Haha we used to wear those in form four – big baby style).

“What do you think of our school?” The principal asked me this one
time I bumped into him behind the kitchen boiler. I was kinda new then.

“It sucks bigtime sir”. That’s what I thought of saying but instead
I told him nice stuff he wanted to hear like how I loved (hated) waking up at
4.50 am to go read stuff I liked (hated) in the foggy weather.

Now Mr. Igogo if you’re reading this I have confessions to make. Firstly,
that place direly needs heaters in classes, that’s why I lied when I said I
enjoyed waking up early to go read. I mean nobody reads in such cold weather.
Second those lunches are too heavy man! I haven’t forgotten those meditation
sessions after lunch that almost made me a Buddha. Third, if you could be like
Oprah Winfrey and get everyone a boshori
that’d be awesome because someone stole mine this one time and I had to tie a kilemba for a whole week and you know I
am not a mkorino. Never have been.

Now this article is beginning to suck because I loathe those
imperfect memories.

Let’s talk something else. How are you guys fighting off the cold?
Someone said such weather is survived in pairs. Like when one is making tea the
other runs to get bread (this is a joke that has passed through all Kenyan
WhatsApp groups including the one group I am in whose job is to notify us of
developments in other groups that probably you’re in; yeah we are watching you
guys). Or you’re using the usual method;

“Sasa”. The dude goes.

“Poa asana…niambie *smiley*”. The chic responds.

“Niko fiti. Ni baridi tu ndio mob *wink*”. The dude texts back.

I’m not sure how the script goes past that but you get it.

CO - Words of Whimsy

And then there is the single’s battalion which I chair that has do
to with lots of coffee and tea and trousers made from duvet materials. The
number of clothes I wear to work nowadays can be used to start a ka-clothing
stall downtown. If say I get kidnapped and end up in Zaire I will have enough
stock on me to still make it big in life. Then you’ll see me in the papers or
on the ‘daring abroad’ show having become a mtumba
mogul by starting with a clothing stall and I will be married to a Zaire chic
and you’ll say I am speaking with a funny accent because ata you don’t know the accent that Zaire people have. In short I
carry a big part of my wardrobe with me nowadays.

This is a good thing – the coffee part not the wardrobe – because I
have ended up on a lot of ‘dates’ given there is no way I am drinking coffee alone
there at Moca Loca with everyone staring pitifully. Now, I will marry you if
you give me a call for a coffee date before July ends! There is this one I
received on Wednesday;

Her: “Are you free we go for coffee in the afternoon?”

Me: (Wipes tear from check and stares in the sky and respond in a
crackly voice) “I am always free”

Her: Are you crying?

Me: (Firmly) No. Ushai ona
nikilia kweli? Niko na homa.

The date was heavenly.

(If you’re my friend and a random chic asks you if nilipona homa just say yes for me
please).

Oh and if you’re a guy just hit me up we will go take calabashUji at Highlands hotel and chat over football.

And before I go on, you people who go to places with sitting booths
(which are a lot) and then sit alone in a booth and deny us who come in pairs
space to chat peacefully your whip is being smeared with pepper by the devil.
The whiplash will be heard by small boys all the way in Timbuktu and those
grazing cattle in Morogoro.

Back to our story.

And I am not alone in the quandary of cold weather, I can count on
all my fingers the people that I know are surviving on coffee and more coffee.
Good thing is that over that Java double shot mug a flickering friendship is
rekindled, over the Café Deli Dawa mug
ending love is extended and over Uji
in calabashes at Highlands business ideas are inspired. As we all chew on shiny
sausages and crunchy samosas we extend more of ourselves to those around us. To
the world. We are sharing the love and beating the cold.

Been meaning to check your blog....since I love your comments in bikozulu and I must say, that was so an awesome read. Inspiring funny and....where in Kinangop by the way? I think I will spend my Friday reading your blog over whiskey rather than spend it sitting at a booth with at my local.

Oh look a new fan! Thanks for checking this blog out. I hope you enjoyed the rest of the articles as well. You can tell me which ones sucked too :) And you're sure you don't know Kinangop? Like foree? Come I'll take you there on a trip.